


Raging Flames and Dancing Swords

by YourLovelyMajesty



Category: Monster Hunter (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Backstory, Blood and Violence, F/F, Fluff, Gunlance comes in clutch, Mutual Pining, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29077911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourLovelyMajesty/pseuds/YourLovelyMajesty
Summary: ||| The Glavenus rolled back to its feet with a belch of fire. Its massive bladed tail swung with newfound precision; Emil threw up his shield but Tavia wasn’t so lucky. The tail hit her chest with the force of a stampede. One second she could breathe—the next, her lungs felt compressed to her spine. She was flung back into the rubble, her helmet echoing with the impact and jarring her neck. For a terrible moment everything was black. |||It's been three days of chasing a single Glavenus. Tavia's tired, hungry, and wants a bath. She wants to go back to her own solo hunts but she also really wants her cut of the reward. All she has to do is cut off the tail. Simple, right?
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> More exploration of Tavia and Ryiel, my girls I've been building since Tri/4. Have some action!  
> (The villages of Aquarin and Sleat don't exist, I made them up, but the Hinmerun Mountains exist in the Schrade Region!)

Tavia threw fresh twigs into the coals of last night’s fire and stoked the embers. Smoke mixed with the early morning mist, tickling her eyes and nose. Her stomach rolled with hunger after yesterday’s hike. They’d thrown up their tents and fell over with exhaustion before they could decide an order for the nightly watch.

  
Thankfully today was the last day of the hunt.

  
The party had followed the Glavenus for two days, trading blows and cautiously letting it escape across the mountain forests, chasing it further from the nearby village. It was exhausted, the spines along its back broken, a substantial gash in its side where their gunlancer broke through thick plates. All the party had to do was follow the line of broken trees and blood, pushing it from its desperate meals until it settled into a well hidden nest.

  
The party leader sent a letter for a guild rep yesterday. If everything went according to plan, they could load up the corpse and collect their handsome reward before the sun set.

  
Tavia just had to slice off the tail. Simple.

  
She stirred up the fire until it swallowed the twigs, lively and warm, before settling down to her rations. She missed Guild-sanctioned camps and the fully stocked canteen. Starting her morning without eggs and a hot drink was no morning she wanted to face, but here she was, the first of the party to rise.

  
Clouds speckled the lilac sky, distant birds making themselves known with noisy clarity. Tavia swatted at the bugs that whined around her ears and took another bite of her rations.

  
Tavia hated nature. She hated dry salted meat. But today was the last day.

  
Behind her, a tent flap ruffled and the gunlancer stepped out, fully armored except his helmet, and stretched his arms wide. Taking a deep breath of the crisp air, he groaned as his bones popped and ran his hands through his short gray hair.

  
“Ah, just when I think I’m getting too old for this, we get a view like that.” He nodded towards the horizon, the hilltops and trees covered with mist and haloed by the rising sun.

  
“I’d trade it for a sturdy roof over my head,” Tavia said. Two days of traveling and fighting and she still didn’t know her team by name; no one seemed offended that when she did address them, it was by their weapon. “Give me a rundown tavern with watery ale and lice in the beds over this outdoor living any day.”

  
“You city-dwellers are all the same. You’d trade your freedom for those walls, eh?”

  
Tavia spit a chunk of gristle into the fire; it spit and hissed like an angry cat. “Maybe not that far, but walls are better than wide open spaces. Anything can show up in a spot like this.”

  
“That’s why we sit watch.” He frowned, his eyes searching around their paltry campsite. “Speaking of, where’s Royse?”

  
Tavia shrugged, not entirely sure which member had last watch. Did she even take a shift? A hazy part of her remembered leaning against a tree, her knife across her lap and her long sword on the ground beside her. Did someone switch with her? She barely remembered crawling out of her tent. She only remembered hunger.

  
“Beats me,” Tavia said. “We seem to have made it through the night, though. Unless this is all some ugly nightmare.”

  
The gunlancer looked up suddenly and Tavia held her breath, strained her ears. Did a predator sneak up? No. Somewhere in the distance was the clatter of cart wheels and hooves, and the raspy singing of felynes.

  
The gunlancer smiled, his lined face suddenly youthful. “Nah, it’s a dream come true. I’ll get the rest of ‘em up.”

  
He disappeared into the other two tents and it wasn’t long before the other members of the party stumbled out. The party leader—a gunner as old, but not as gray, as the gunlancer—rubbed his bald head as he sucked on a strip of jerky. The hammer user—a woman with biceps bigger than Tavia’s—sat across the fire and began to rebraid her hair.

  
The Guild cart was pulled by a small team of anteka; three energetic felynes bounced in the back, their paws waving wildly as their song came to an end. Beside the cart, dressed in blinding white and red, the Guild representative walked with her nose in a book. If it was anyone else, Tavia would claim it was impossible to hike and read at the same—but this was Ryiel. For her, it was expected.

  
Ryiel glanced up and waved with a smile. Tavia’s heart fluttered, her ration nearly stuck in her throat. Coming up the hillside, Ryiel looked like a dream. Her uniform was spotless, cap still straight on her head, not a single golden thread on her capelet snagged after hiking. Her dark skin was dewey, her black eyes sparkling as she tucked one of her microbraids behind her ear.

  
Meanwhile Tavia was in her underclothes, sweat baked into the fibers from two days of fighting, her milky skin crusted with mud, greasy red hair stuck to her head. She smelled like a Congalala’s backside.

  
Not exactly the way she wanted to meet Ryiel again, but if Tavia was being honest, she didn’t expect to ever see Ryiel out in the wilderness. Tavia had found her plenty of times inside Dundorma or small towns, and Tavia often spent too much time searching for her only to find her bent over reports and books. More than twice, Tavia enticed Ryiel out of her bookish den for dinner and drinks.

  
But Tavia was intentionally dressed up for those occasions. She did her best to seduce the Guild girl who was known for her meticulous reporting, her always tidy appearance. What would Ryiel think of her now?

  
The leader stepped forward to greet the Guild representative. She traded her small book with a large leather-bound journal from her rucksack and opened to a marked page.

  
“This is the party of Emil, Royse, and Tavia, led by Marco, correct?” Ryiel asked. Her soft voice sent chills down Tavia’s spine.

  
“That’s us, ma’am,” the bald leader, Marco, said. “We’ve got the Glavenus a few miles west from here.”

  
“Already dead?”

  
“We’re putting it down today and hope to deliver the tail to the village chief.”

  
Ryiel consulted her journal again. “‘The village of Aquarin requests the removal of one Glavenus endangering the vicinity. Reward requirements include hunting the aforementioned monster and presenting the tail at the village; the hunter, hunting party, or Guild may choose what to do with the corpse,’” she read. “Is someone claiming the body?”

  
“I am,” said the hammer user. “Got a blacksmith willing to make me some new armor if I bring it in.”

  
No one discussed the specifics with Tavia. Thankfully she wasn’t shopping for new weapons or armor. She just wanted the money.

  
Ryiel pulled a pencil from under her cap and made a few marks in the journal. She smiled with satisfaction at Marco. “Excellent. Should I wait here until you’re finished?”

  
“It should be safe enough,” Marco said. “We’ve been trying to push it away from the village so I can’t see it doubling back this way.”

  
“I can stay behind if things go wrong,” the gunlancer said.

  
“Emil, come on, you know—”

  
“I can take care of myself just fine,” Ryiel said with a wicked smile. She motioned to the felynes still bouncing in the cart. “Don’t worry about us. Focus on your hunt and we’ll approach when you’re ready to load up.”

  
Marco looked over the party, his apprehension plain on his face.

  
Tavia knew from experience that Guild representatives weren’t pushovers; while some hunters traded the field for paper, other Guild reps were washouts from training, people who couldn’t make the leap from greenhorn to officially licensed. Everyone who worked within the Guild had some sort of weapons training.

  
And Tavia happened to know a bit more about Ryiel’s experience than she wanted to share.

  
“Let’s just get it done,” the hammer user said. “My feet hurt and I’m ready to soak in a hot bath.”

  
“Seconded,” said Tavia. She stood and stretched out her back. “It’s probably slept less than we have and it’s definitely lost more blood than us. Should be an easy target.”

  
“Alright, alright,” Marco sighed. He went towards his tent. “Let’s suit up and get moving.”

  
The gunlancer—what was his name, Emil?—was the only one in armor and was already tearing down his tent. The hammer user—her name must have been Royse—jumped up, her green hair now in a single braid, and entered her tent to dress. After Emil rolled up his tent, he offered to collect some firewood for Ryiel, in case the hunt went longer than expected, and disappeared into the forest.

  
It was just Tavia and Ryiel near the fire.

  
Tavia’s palms itched to reach out and stroke Ryiel’s face, but her hands were filthy, blood and dirt caked under her nails. And maybe Ryiel wouldn’t appreciate the touch, anyway. They were still new to each other. In Ryiel’s own words they weren’t official . . . yet.

  
Ryiel offered a dazzling grin that sent Tavia’s heart racing. “I hoped it was you,” she said quietly. She kept her distance from Tavia but it wasn’t cold, just professional. For a quick moment it looked like she wanted to lean into Tavia—and then she was gone, turning away towards the cart and unhooking the anteka. The felynes crawled off the cart and circled the fire.

  
“It’s good to see you, Ryiel,” Tavia said. That was safe enough. “I didn’t know you came out on the field.”

  
“I go wherever the Guild needs me. You wouldn’t know it by looking, but I actually know my way around the Hinmerun Mountains very well.”

  
“Am I going to hear the story behind that one?” Tavia asked. She loved to listen to Ryiel talk about herself, but Tavia still didn’t know where she came from or how she came to the Guild. Tavia had already spilled her simple story; hers was boring, easy. Ryiel made her beginnings seem mysterious.

  
Ryiel winked, a finger held up in front of her lips. “Maybe one day. You better get dressed for battle first. Happy hunting today.”


	2. The Middle

The hike to the hidden nest was slow going. The party scrambled over rock slides, moss soft and thick enough to suction their boots, and over decaying trunks hidden by lichen and leaves. More than once, Royse stumbled into one of the Glavenus’s massive footprints. At least they were still going the right way.

The nest itself was hidden behind a thicket of undergrowth in a fissure of a rockface shelf. From Emil’s earlier scouting, he’d discovered two entrances that essentially made the fissure a crooked hallway of rock and damp moss. The fifteen-foot cliff was easy to scale. The party knew the plan.

Marco pushed past the trampled brush and bloodied dirt while Emil readied his barrel bomb. Royse and Tavia were already halfway up the rockface. They planned to hit it hard and fast—Emil’s bomb would flush the brute wyvern out to the opposite side, where Royse and Tavia would wait to ambush it from above. They couldn’t afford another day of chasing it, and more importantly, Tavia wanted to be back in town and in a tub by nightfall.

“It’s gone,” Marco said as he returned. His voice was just loud enough for the women to hear. “There’s a Queropeco in the nest now.”

Royse groaned in agitation and pulled herself up over the lip. She crouched there, her eyes burning through her helmet. “Are you serious? It was there last night, right, Emil?” she called while she helped Tavia up.

“Must’ve moved after I scouted.” Emil scratched his bearded chin through his open-faced helmet. “Were there any tracks inside? Don’t tell me the Queropeco fought it and won.”

“It definitely wasn’t in there, and I didn’t want to risk waking the damn bird, but I think I saw tracks going out the other side.”

“Well it couldn’t have gone far with how beat up it is. Let’s split up.”

The men continued west while Royse and Tavia took a moment to catch their breath. Royse grumbled and paced, one hand on her hunting knife while the other swatted at low hanging branches. 

They followed the broken edge of the rock towards the opposite entrance while avoiding the loose roots of trees trying to grow over the empty air. Most of the mist had dispersed during the hike, the sun striking through thick green leaves and dappling the ground even so high up.

It was obvious the Glavenus hadn’t climbed up anywhere. The trees were tightly packed and undisturbed. Only the small fauna stirred the greenery, and that alone was a solid clue the monster had disappeared somewhere. When they reached the northern edge of the fissure, Royse pulled out her binoculars and scanned the ground below.

“There’s some blood but I don’t see any prints,” she growled. “What a waste of time.”

“Maybe we should climb down and get a closer look,” said Tavia. “Last time we tangled with it, it jumped as far as a Tigrex to tackle me. I wouldn’t be surprised to find tracks further under the trees.”

But the trees below were also undisturbed. Tavia was six-feet tall and barely reached one thick knee on the Glavenus; it couldn’t have gone through the trees without crushing or uprooting a few.

Royse stretched her back, arms swinging wide, hammer knocking against her spine. “This whole trip has been a waste. Three days for one hunt.” She rolled her eyes.

Tavia shrugged. “It’s good pay for an easy target. Think about it, you could be handling eggs or mushrooms right now.”

The other woman removed her helmet and spat in the dirt. “You won’t catch me doing grunt work. Deliveries are for greenhorns.”

“Money is money. We all start somewhere.”

“I’ve never delivered more than a whetfish in my career. Oh, I get it. A few days ago you said you’re usually a solo hunter, right? No wonder.”

Tavia was going to let the comment slide—she’d dealt with Royse’s type before—but something bristled in her stomach and the words came out before she could stop them.

“No wonder, huh? No wonder being  _ just _ a solo hunter gives me the freedom to accept any job I want? Yes, how tragic that my pockets are overflowing from my third delivery of the day while you’re still waiting for your group to sort through—”

“Alright, Sword, save it for the wyvern,” said Royse. She replaced her helmet and started back the way they came. “It wasn’t a personal attack. I don’t know you from Schrade, and I really don’t care to know you.”

Tavia followed, her eyes trained on the hammer snapping delicate branches. Her blood still ran loud in her ears. She knew that heavy hammer could be drawn in an instant, her skull fractured before she realized. She didn’t believe Royse would try anything yet Tavia’s nerves stayed coiled tight.

It was rare to run into stigma in the Guild but there was something about solo hunters that often set people off. Solo hunters were braggarts, they couldn’t work in a team if their life depended on it, they let team members suffer to save their own skin—Tavia had heard it all and then some. And it was all lies.

Tavia didn’t have a preference, if she was honest. She enjoyed the freedom of going solo; she didn’t have to jump when her group demanded or split any money. But she loved the feeling of fighting with someone, of the possibility of a team so in sync they could finish a hunt without losing the monster once.

She was never selfish to the point her team would get hurt. It was unthinkable.

She took a deep breath of the mountain air to clear her thoughts. “Then we’re on the same page,” she muttered.

“You haven’t done me any harm. Yet.”

“We’ve been out here for three days and you’re still alive. I shared my burn salve with you. I’m literally watching your back right now.”

“And I offer the same courtesy. I just want you to know where I stand.” Royse stopped and turned to Tavia, her shoulders squared.

The crack of gunfire was like lightning to Tavia’s senses. An explosion followed.

Small creatures scattered from the treetops and the earth below; a family of kelbi bolted from the mist like terrified ghosts, disappearing in a blink.

Royse was already moving. She tore through the trees and brush, her hammer already in hand. Tavia followed close behind. The stand-off was instantly forgotten as a familiar roar climbed the cliff and flooded Tavia’s body with a rush of adrenaline.

They made it back to the southern entrance. The sounds of battle, of blades and bullets and hoarse cries from monster and man, came from beyond the edge of the cliff. The rockface they’d climbed had collapsed and scattered boulders over the field; getting down would be tricky.

Royse didn’t pause. She flew over the shattered rock, her own battle cry joining the fray. Tavia stopped at the loose rubble and assessed the field.

Marco was at his preferred distance and quickly reloading his massive bowgun. Emil kept the monster busy by jabbing at its legs, shooting when the monster’s attention faltered to Marco. Emil swept between its legs and unleashed a bolt of wyvern’s fire on its belly. The Glavenus screamed, staggered backwards, just in time for Royse to land a blow between its shoulders as she fell. The Glavenus tried to swirl and rear back all at once and instead tripped and fell.

Tavia watched it all unfold in two heartbeats, and then her long sword was thrumming its ancient song in her hand. She slid down the rubble and jumped from the collapsed rock, landing and rolling on the ground still seven feet below. She was grateful most of the cliff had come down; although her knees would still complain later, a seven foot drop was easier than fifteen.

She ran for the downed Glavenus. The team was already there pummeling it with blows. Emil was trying to set up another burst of wyvern’s fire. Tavia’s sword struck the monster’s thick plates and sang a note of pure bliss.

It wouldn’t take long. She was ready to slice through plates, muscle, bone—whatever it took.

The Glavenus rolled back to its feet with a belch of fire. Its massive bladed tail swung with newfound precision; Emil threw up his shield but Tavia wasn’t so lucky. The tail hit her chest with the force of a stampede. One second she could breathe—the next, her lungs felt compressed to her spine. She was flung back into the rubble, her helmet echoing with the impact and jarring her neck.

For a terrible moment everything was black.

Tavia existed in a weightless, ringing void of nothing. Realistically she knew she had limbs, but for some reason they weren’t attached. She tried to wiggle her fingers but they refused to respond. And then she heard something familiar.

Her sword was there in her hand, the song of its strength as loud as the ringing in her head, and warmth flooded her body. She opened her eyes and air came back to her like a drink of cold water in the desert.

Someone shouted from far away. Tavia was back on her feet, sword raised as she spit the coppery taste of defeat from her mouth. Through the tough layers of her gauntlets, she felt the pulse of power from her sword. It was angry. It was hungry.

The Glavenus breathed an inferno as Royse and Emil rolled clear; the surrounding trees were too damp to do anything but smoulder. Tavia dodged the small fires catching on the underbrush and charged the Glavenus while it swung its massive head after the others.

She managed a clean slice through the Glavenus’s side; her sword hummed gratefully. She followed the first swing with another to the nearest leg, then the other, working her way towards the back where the tail hung heavy and red. The Glavenus continued its volley of fire and then rushed forward, its massive jaws ready to snap, but stopped just short of Marco to swing its tail around. The Glavenus clamped its tail in its mouth.

Marco ran. Emil’s shield was ready. Royse took the chance to pound its already-ruined face before dodging out of range. Tavia grinned behind her helmet as she surged forward—this was it.

It never happened with rational thought. Tavia let herself get lost in the song of her sword, let the music take over and direct her steps. Her blade danced gracefully with each arc, every attack aimed just so, honing into the weakest spots as she let loose against the meat of the tail. For a breathless moment, her blade was caught, the dance unfinished. But the sword always knew what it wanted and what needed to happen, and her body was happy to answer the call.

With a hitch of her shoulders, an unthinking flex of her biceps, the sword cut clean through.

The Glavenus seemed to pause for a heartbeat. Tavia expected it to unleash its newly sharpened tail and send her flying again, but before she had control of her body to brace, the monster cried out. And when the massive jaw opened, the severed tail fell to the ground.

Her muscles burned from overuse. Her sword was louder than ever, it’s blade glowing softly with power. The hilt pulsed with need, demanding the use of Tavia’s body if only she would surrender.

“Tavia, move!”

Sound came back to her all at once. Her ears rang from the Glavenus’s enraged roar, and she realized she was in the direct path of a blast of fire.

Blood made the ground slippery. Before she could sheathe her sword, before she could move, she was surrounded by blinding white and molten heat.

“Hey, you good?” someone asked.

When she opened her eyes, Emil was next to her, his massive shield covering both of them. She was grateful he couldn’t see her goofy grin.

“Thank goodness for shields,” she said with a laugh.

“You might try one sometime. C’mon, let’s finish this thing off.”


	3. The End

“It’s a big one, alright,” Ryiel said as the felynes finished measuring the body strapped to the wagon. She glanced again at the tape and whistled as she wrote the number in her journal. “Include the tail and it could be a silver crown. I’ll have to cross reference and get back to you.”

“I can live without, thanks,” said Marco. He wiped his still sweating face as he leaned against his bowgun.

“Make sure it’s in my record,” Royse said. She had undone her braid and was busy sawing away at the singed ends with her hunting knife. “And if the Guild can get this thing as far as Sleat, I can transport it to Minegarde. My craftsman is over there.”

“That wasn’t part of the initial agreement, but I’m sure it can be done. Is this everything, then?” Ryiel closed her journal and held it to her chest. Her eyes seemed to drift to Tavia, but Tavia was intent on not noticing.

She was a mess. Blood was currently drying to her armor in sticky patches, her body ached and stank like nothing living should. She really wanted nothing more than to sink into a burning hot bath and maybe take a nap. No, maybe eating a real meal was first. Or maybe she could eat in the bath—yes, that was perfect.

But she also wanted to talk to Ryiel.

Ryiel offered the weary hunters a ride on the cart and they heartily accepted. Except Tavia. Ryiel gave her a secretive smile, her eyes lit from within.

The cart began to trudge back through the forest while Tavia and Ryiel trailed behind. The felynes tried to lead the team of hunters in a song, but the exhausted voices didn’t sound convincing and so the felynes sang louder and with more gusto.

Tavia tried not to invade Ryiel’s space as they walked but the Guild rep wasn’t dressed for hiking. Realistically, she knew Ryiel made it through the mountains and was capable of going back, but there was something about a woman in a skirt walking through the wilderness that made Tavia offer her hand over slippery rocks and giant roots. Ryiel seemed happy to indulge her, but she knew seeing a hunter after everything was a disgusting sight. Touching one was a different matter.

“I’m sorry,” Tavia said suddenly, releasing Ryiel’s hand after helping her across a slim creek. “I probably stink like the dead. And look like it. And sound like it. Well, I know I’m pretty ugly to begin with—”

“Oh stop it. Self-deprecation isn’t funny, and it’s not your thing. Don’t start trying to make it your thing.”

“Sorry, I just mean to say that when you show up looking all official and cute, it can make a girl question her looks.”

Ryiel laughed. “You’ve been in the forest for three days fighting a brute wyvern. I slept at an inn last night and bathed this morning. There’s a big difference.”

“It seems like you always materialize from nowhere looking absolutely flawless.” Tavia felt warmth fill her cheeks, and not from the exertion. “Sometimes I’m afraid to touch you. Like I’ll leave a stain.”

Ryiel’s soft hand slid into Tavia’s. The touch was electric, foreign, and yet perfectly right. “I like your hands,” she said softly. “I like all of you, before or after a hunt. It’s what you like to do, right? Didn’t you once tell me you wanted to make the world a better, safer place while you searched for your legendary elder dragon?”

Tavia nodded.

“So it’s just another part of you that I like. And you had fun out there, right?”

Tavia nodded again and smiled. She couldn’t deny that. She lived to fight. Whether it was a good-natured brawl or fighting to save a village, she loved pushing her body to the extreme, getting the measure of her opponent, testing herself over and over and growing stronger.

“Then that’s all that matters. You did some good today, and you had fun. I’m just sorry I had to miss it.”

“I would’ve been worried sick about you,” Tavia said. She squeezed Ryiel’s hand briefly. “Saying you know how to fight and actually doing it are two very different things. And training against a human opponent or a Jaggia is incredibly different than taking down a full-grown wyvern.”

“I’ll have you know I come from a long line of hunting horn users.”

“Hunting horn?” Tavia asked, exasperated. This was the first time Ryiel ever mentioned a preference. “No! Say it isn’t so!”

“It is, and I was properly trained with it, thank you very much.”

Tavia couldn’t help herself—she laughed until her stomach hurt. The idea of Ryiel swinging around a weapon bigger and heavier than her entire body was ludicrous. She was too detail-oriented! She couldn’t be a slugger.

“What’s going on back there?” Emil called.

He was propped up on a strap keeping the tail in place, and the only one awake. Royse was spread out on the right side of the cart, one leg dangling, her hammer acting as a solid pillow while Marco was curled around his bowgun and snoring loudly. When Emil spotted the women’s entwined hands, he smiled and waved, pointedly looking away.

But the moment was over. Tavia took her hand back and Ryiel released her without arguing.

“You know,” she said instead, “I’ve heard although Sleat is a small village, they have great hot springs. I have to go out that way after we stop in Aquarin. Would you have any reason to travel out there?”

“Wow, all the way out to Sleat? Do they have good food?” Tavia aked, her mocking tone matching Ryiel’s.

“I know a girl who worked there for a few months. She mentioned their grilled kabobs.”

“Well I am about to get a nice payout. Maybe I could treat you to one of those kabobs in the near future?”

Ryiel grinned. “Then the hot springs are on me.”


End file.
